


The news

by blackcrystaly



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Humor, M/M, betaed!, canon divergence more or less
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-04
Updated: 2013-01-04
Packaged: 2017-11-23 15:57:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/623916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackcrystaly/pseuds/blackcrystaly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Greg ask John to deliver some news that he says will disrupt Sherlock: Mycroft is sick... with the flu.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The news

**Author's Note:**

> After reading so many wonderful stories I decided to try my hand at this fandom... constructive criticism is always welcomed.  
> I want to thank Leah_Ester who beta read it, and was so patient and wonderful to me reading once and again this one!!!  
> Any remaining mistakes are my own, of course!

The phone rang twice before John answered.

"Greg, how are you mate?" They had become quite good friends over the months and years that had passed since he had become the flatmate, blogger, friend and lover of Sherlock Holmes. "If this is about Sherlock refusing to look at the poisoning case..."

"No, no, it's not about that."

Something in the way the detective’s voice changed put John on alert and he straightened himself on the sofa.

"What's wrong?" he asked seriously.

"Look, I need you to do me a favor. It has to do with Sherlock but it's not about work, okay?" Greg said softly, his tone getting darker and full of worry.

The military man in Watson was used to hearing that tone and it never bore good news. So he braced himself, already thinking how he could save his lover from whatever it was he was in trouble for.

"You have to break some news to him... _gently_ "

"Greg, whatever it is, just, please, get to the point." the doctor was already moving around the flat. He opened his computer to start checking for places they could run to until the British Government, also known as the older Holmes, managed to sort whatever the conflict was this time, picking up his gun and wallet. Packing wouldn't take too much, would it?

"Of course, sorry John, it's just so strange. I can barely believe it myself, but he says it's the truth and I believe him."

Great! The man was raving now... or was he just trying to prevent him from flying with the brunette? No, Greg wouldn't call him if that was the case, just appear at the house and take Sherlock to the NSY.

" _Greg!_ " He almost yelled, but managed to refrain at the last second, his voice stressed and laced with anger.

"Sorry! It's just too incredible!" The detective inspector went on, followed by a strange silence. Obviously someone was talking to him nearby and finally the older man was back with him. "Oh! Sorry, John, I should have told you before. I'm not arresting Sherlock or anything like that."

The blond let his breath out, slowly, and calmed himself.

"Then, what the hell is going on, because I can't make head or tails of anything!" He wasn't the consulting detective; he couldn't make sense of a bunch of incoherent ramblings!

"Sure. Look I need you brake the news kindly to him okay? He may not... react well to it."

"We are talking about Sherlock here..." he said leaving the sentence unfinished because there was nothing else to say. No words could encompass the way the young man was and they both knew it.

"Yes, exactly, that's the problem."

"Still not making sense, Greg." He could tell that the man was struggling with the news he had to deliver so John simply tried to be patient. He was a doctor after all, and it kind of came with the profession.

"Mycroft is... unwell." There was another silence. "Fine! He is _'indisposed'_." John could almost feel the quotation marks on the other's words and had to make an effort not to laugh aloud. "Which means he has the bloody flu and we, as in me and him, need for you to be the bearer of the bad news to the insufferable genius you live with"

" _That's it?!_ " he asked, awed and completely confused. "You call me at ten in the morning, scare me half to death and all you wanted was for me to tell Sherlock that his brother has the flu?! The brother which he so publicly berates to whoever happens to hear him?!"

"Yes, look, I now how it sounds, but apparently things aren't as we believe. Just heard from Mycroft today so... don't kill the messenger."

John Watson wasn't a brilliant man, he was "painfully normal" as his lover used to say. But he wasn't an idiot and he understood a little of what the detective inspector was trying to say, even if he didn't quite grasp all of it.

"Fine, but you will have to explain things to me soon enough!" he said finally.

They were two of a kind, the blokes who managed to seduce and fall in love with the Holmes men. So of course they started a support group of two to try and keep their minds some days, their hands off their lover’s necks other days and to commiserate with each other or pass some advice.

"He will not take it well. So, Mycroft wants me to tell you not to worry. We'll have everything ready for the two of you... And he says that he could at least save you the cab ride and a little bit of your sanity if you let him send the car."

One of the things that Lestrade manage to do for John was to stop the regular kidnappings. Now Mycroft texted him and let him know that he wanted to talk and would send the black vehicle to pick him up. In return the doctor had made Sherlock kinder with the older man in public and sometimes made him accept some cases he would otherwise refuse outright.

"Do you want me to check on your man? I'm an actual doctor, you know?" he said with a smile on his face

"Thank you John, but it won't be necessary. He just has the flu... even if he is behaving like a five year old and pretending he is going to die in the next ten minutes!" There was another silence which the green eyed one now knew meant Greg was discussing something with his partner. "Sorry, John, have to go, the British Government wants a cup of tea and some loving care. And apparently I have been demoted from Nurse Greg to Nurse Lestrade because of the five year old's remark so I better put the kettle on. Please, be careful telling Sherlock! See you, mate." And he hung up just like that.

John decided that a cup of tea would be a good idea, so he stood up and went to the kitchen. No matter how much Sherlock proclaimed that he loved him, their living space was still a dangerous place. If he didn't look carefully he could end with a splinter of something, a cut, self poisoning or a burn... again.

His mind began to wrap around all that had been said to him, and was trying to decide how carefully 'careful' meant when Sherlock appeared.

He walked to his lover very slowly, and hugged his back.

That had been one hell of a change in their lives. The detective was a very tactile person, and once he had the good doctor in his paws he didn't let go. Furtive touches, soft caressing, a kiss now and then, a bite on the neck... the blond understood better than he let on. It wasn't just that the taller one was starved for physical affection after so long denying himself. It was the fact that he wanted to mark the other, make sure there was always his scent, his touch, even his lip and teeth marks showing that John was owned.

"Morning, John!" He greeted almost cheerfully, while turning the man around to kiss him properly on the mouth.

"Morning, Sherlock." He replied, wrapping his arms around the other's waist and giving him a soft kiss on the side of the neck. He just needed a little more time of this calm version of the brunette with him before he delivered the message.

"What's wrong?" The young man asked worried.

Of course it couldn't last. The man was a bloody sleuth!

"Greg called earlier." He began, turning around to pull the kettle away from the fire and, after turning off the flame, he took two cups and teabags to finish preparing the beverage.

"If it's about the poisoning case..." he said, making a disgusted face. "I'm _not_ that bored or _desperate_ as to take that incredibly simply, uninteresting, obvious–" He was cut off by Watson kissing him, deeply even if briefly.

"It's not about that, so just take your tea and join me in the living room... We have to talk."

Sherlock went somber, and he was quickly studying John from head to toe while taking the cup from his hand almost distractedly.

The blond cursed himself, of course his lover would achieve the wrong conclusion after what he had just said. He had to make things right again and fast. He still remembered what had happened the last time the detective thought he was leaving him...

"No, no, love! It's nothing bad, not about us, at least!" He spoke quickly; kicking himself when he thought of the words he had just uttered.

" _Lestrade is leaving my brother?!_ " The brunette sounded strange at that, it wasn't surprise but it wasn't happiness either.

The Scotland Yard investigator had been right, there was more than they had suspected between the two Holmes.

"Of course not!" he said while moving to the sofa and sitting down. "Sherlock, _how in the world_ did you reach that conclusion?" he asked almost ready to smack his lover on the head.

"Lestrade never calls you. He texts. So if he did it at this unholy hour, there's something important going on. It's not about the imbecile poisoner, since you have already told me it wasn't. You prepared tea for two even before you knew I was awake which means you were doing it for two people anyway. And when I asked you what was wrong you told me that 'we have to talk' which is a phrase usually used when couples have serious problems. Since it's not us... _so_... Lestrade and my brother."

John looked at him with brilliant eyes. No matter how wrong the deductions, he'd always love to hear the brunette explain how he had reached the last point of the line.

"You are wrong on this one," he said softly, knowing how sensitive the other could get over the issue.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow and waited for his blogger to explain.

"Greg called me this morning to ask me to tell you something..." He began slowly, still trying to think what he would tell to the man.

"If it's not about the case and not about Mycroft..." He interrupted abruptly

" _It is_ about Mycroft." Maybe the truth would be a good place to start. He could deal with the rest later.

" _What's wrong with Mycroft?_ " This time the voice betrayed worry and a lot of it. Sherlock was on his feet in a second, and seemed ready to leave the flat in his pajamas. So the blond grabbed his wrist and pulled him to his own body to make the detective stop and hear.

Now he understood.

"He’s sick, Sherlock." At those words it was like seeing a spring uncoil. The man’s grey eyes shone dangerously and he pushed both of them to their feet.

" _It's nothing serious!_ " John shouted while being dragged around the flat.

The detective had him trapped by the arm and was moving around, clothing himself and taking John's medical bag with him, not really hearing anything the smaller man was trying to explain.

"... flu!" he said, resigned that he wouldn't be heard, not understood, for the time being. The younger man was showing his maniac energy and wouldn't let John out of his grip. It seemed it had been a good idea to accept the British Government’s offer about the car.

They were already at the door and ready to leave. Sherlock had his lover in one hand, his mobile in his pocket and the medical bag in the other when all the things that John had been telling him and he had chosen to ignore came to him at once.

He slowed down and looked at his lover, who seemed equal parts amused, worried and resigned. He couldn't understand the odd reaction the doctor was having at his brother being sick.

"Why do you think that Mycroft being sick is _funny_?" He asked a little angry.

Those words made John sober very quickly. He used his free hand to take the other's chin and made their eyes meet.

"I don't." He said, completely honest "It's just that after seeing you claim how much you detest him you are almost frantic with worry. You’re ready to leave the flat without shoes because he has the _flu_."

Sherlock was taken aback. He looked down and saw that in fact he was barefooted. But more importantly, he couldn't believe that John would question his love for his brother. John, who was the only person that saw him as human, that insisted he had a heart and feelings.

The brunette’s hurt was very visible to the smaller man, and the doctor couldn't really understand what he had done. But it was his fault and he would address the problem immediately.

"I'm sorry, Sherlock, I didn't mean to poke fun at you, seriously!" He claimed while getting closer to his lover to hug him. The detective always heard him better when he was close, forcing the younger one to pay attention. "Greg told me you would react strongly and that things weren't as they looked..." And once again, John Watson finally grasped the importance of it all.

"I'm sorry, love." The repentance very clear in his voice, and the other couldn't find it in himself to stay mad.

Their cover, his and Mycroft’s, had been designed to fool the brightest minds in the world, their lovers unfortunately included. The brothers hadn't explained things to them because they assumed the pair would eventually find out. It had been _their_ mistake not Greg's or John's.

"Me too." he said trying to convey his thoughts to the other.

The man smiled.

"I offered to check on him and, even though he didn't accept, Mycroft sent a car for us." And at last, the message was delivered.

The brunette consented, and let the other go, since he still had to put some shoes on.

"Of course you'll check on him, and he'll let you. His idiot of a doctor couldn't even keep him healthy!" He shouted from the other room.

John knew that it would be pointless to explain to him that medical knowledge wasn't equal to miracle making. That there was a chance that people would get sick even if they were correctly tended to by their specialists.

Sherlock himself had been sick once or twice even under his ministrations.

 

Five minutes later both of them were on the road to the British Government’s private house.

John was looking intensely at Sherlock, trying to decide if he should ask what was on his mind.

The other one smiled softly at his lover.

"You want to understand why Mycroft and I pretend to barely tolerate each other?" he asked with bright eyes.

"Sherlock, you don't _'tolerate'_ him. You seemed to hate him up until today!" The blond corrected not too softly.

" _Fine, be like that!_ " he said turning around to look out the window, making his best effort to pout.

"Come on, love, you know I always enjoy you telling me things..." He wasn't about to start reinforcing the taller's childish behavior so it was all that he said, and waited.

Eventually, the brunette turned around and went to kiss Watson.

"We can't afford being... _emotional_ towards each other," he said finally, looking at the floor of the car.

"Mycroft always shows a soft side for you." The man spoke very quietly

"And it has cost him... before. He has to pretend it’s all just to get me to work at his side at the Government. It's okay for him to protect... an _asset_." The voice turned dangerous and edgy.

John hated when this happened. When the consulting detective turned to the past and lost himself, his humanity, his kindness. The former soldier had learned how to act on these occasions. He wrapped his arms around Sherlock's body and hugged him until his whole body was against the other, forcing all of the taller one's senses on him, to register him, to come back to the present.

"You both are idiots!"

"We are not! We are _brilliant_!" He protested strongly but didn’t make a move to pull apart from Watson.

"You both pretend to use and abuse the other in order not to be each other’s weakness..."

"Yeah."

"That's..."

"The only way we could survive, so we'll keep it that way." He was completely serious now.

They could afford their lovers being their Achilles' heel since they already were publicly known and acknowledged. But what he and Mycroft shared was not to be disclosed by anyone. Surely the former soldier could see and understand that.

The blond smiled softly once more. The Holmeses were brilliant sometimes and just idiots others, this time it was a little bit of both.

"Of course, love. I'd never betray your trust, both of your trusts," he said, happy to have a loving brother-in-law and not a sniveling, manipulative, bastard of one.

Once again, Sherlock was absolutely taken aback by John's reaction. The man was wonderful, unique... and _his_.

That thought always made him hard as a rock, and the need to reinforce his ownership was just too strong to resist.

The smaller one could see the change in his lover, the naked desire in those clear orbs. But he knew they didn't have that much time... so a compromise was in order.

He kissed his lover, passionately, while his hands worked on the other's trousers.

"We can't go all the way _here_. We are... _almost there_..." He breathed heavily in the brunette's ear, knowing fully well how that affected his lover.

" _John_..." he said, a plea, an order...

"I know... I know... me too Sherlock... but not here..."

He sat on his lover's lap; put one hand on the other's nape and turning his head to the side offered his neck to the taller one.

That was the one thing that he could never reject. It seemed to call the most primal of Sherlock's brain. He got harder if that was even possible.

The show of submission, the offering to be taken, marked, made him go crazy with desire. He bit down on the soft skin, felt the pulse beneath it, licked the hurt place and did it all over again.

The smaller one was moaning wildly while freeing both their hard-ons, ready to take care of them.

Sherlock's hands roamed all over his body, but refrained from getting under his trousers, even if they stayed a little longer on his ass than they should. Finally they focused on torturing his nipples.

"Want you _so much_..."

"Me too... but we can't..."

" _Tonight_..." He threatened

"I'm _yours_ Sherlock... tonight, every night!" He tried not to howl; barely registering that the driver couldn't hear them. He knew that from Greg. He and Mycroft had done it more than once in the cars.

Those words proved to be his undoing. The consulting detective came all over his lover's hand.

One more bite at the exposed, vulnerable, neck of John and a little twist on his nipple and he had the doctor coming too.

After they had come down from their orgasms, the blond began to look around.

"Tissues are... here." Sherlock moved like a cat that had been well fed, and looked exactly like one.

He offered the soft things to his lover and kissed him once again before they proceed to straighten up.

A minute later they arrived at Mycroft's mansion.

END

**Author's Note:**

> Truth is, I hate the whole Sherlock hating Mycroft, because it's obvious from ACD that he indeed admires his brother a lot and they have a good relationship... so this is my explanation at why they seem to barely tolerate each other in Sherlock (BBC)  
> Sincerely I would love to read stories where they are better to each other, so I decided to write myself one...
> 
>  
> 
> Disclaimer: The characters belong to ACD and this version I'm playing with to BBC.


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